


Not Yours

by blackchaps



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub, M/M, shifting pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-05-23 04:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14927147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackchaps/pseuds/blackchaps
Summary: A job gone wrong, and Clint is well and truly caught.





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> This will be in chapters, and I can't promise when the next one will be ready. I have it mapped but not written. Sorry!

********  
He had to make a decision, right damn now.

Taking the job had been about the money, and it’d been an easy choice to make. Get in, kill the main dude, and get out. Simple.

An explosion knocked Clint back into a wall, and he crouched down to catch his breath. Whoever was storming this base meant business. Two beekeepers rounded the far corner and ran right at him, but Clint didn’t have a chance because a guy in a suit appeared and took them down. Suit guy looked scarily competent, and Clint ran deeper into the AIM base. There were three exits, and now they were all blocked. He could hide, or he could make for the roof and hope there was a way down he hadn’t found when he was doing his research.

Yeah, he’d better hide, and he took special care to dump his gun in a toilet so there was no chance of recovering DNA. He’d seen it on TV once, so it was probably true. His hearing aids got flushed, but they were cheap ones, and he’d learned a long time ago that people thought he was stupid when he was deaf. While they were thinking that, he could escape. 

People running and smoke drove him down another floor, and he found a room full of cells. It was stupid, he knew, but he scooted under a cot and pulled the coarse blanket down just enough to hide him if he curled into a ball. If he were found, his black clothes might give away the whole assassin thing. Natasha was going to be very disappointed in him, if he ever saw her again.

Tucking his body tight, he rested his face on his knees and forced his body to breathe quietly. He might have to hide for hours, and he relaxed his muscles, slowing his heartbeat. It was time to wait, and he was very good at that.

They yanked him out, shaking him and he took a slam to the stomach before he was even fully awake. Okay, so he’d been asleep. It’d been a long day! They didn’t have to hit him! The guy in the suit strode into sight, and Clint had one second to make up his mind. The guys waving their guns were going to fill him with holes, and he didn’t want that. Not at all. Twisting, he threw himself at the suit’s feet. Hunched, he grabbed hold of his shirt, pulling it up over his back. He put his face directly on the suit’s polished shoe and held his breath.

It wasn’t like he could hear what they were saying, or yelling, and he refused to look up at their mouths. He was stellar lip reader, but nobody needed to know that. It was weird how time stretched when he was waiting to be shot. The shoe under his face shifted, and a hand landed square on his back, not a slap, but a firm touch.

It was enough acceptance from the Dom to get him breathing again, and this time the hands pulling him to his feet weren’t as rough. He let his shirt drop and kept his face turned down. Doms loved that. He quivered as his hands were cuffed behind his back, and he knew he wasn’t dealing with idiots when they bound his elbows. Now, he looked into the suit’s face, and wow, he really should’ve stayed in bed today.

********

“Report, Cheese.”

“I’d rather not,” Coulson kept his tone light. “We found the last holdout. We’re blowing the place. I’ll see you on the helicarrier.”

“Good report.” Fury paused. “Casualties?”

“Light, injuries only.” Coulson wasn’t mentioning the sub he’d just promised to protect, not ever. It’d been an impulsive mistake, born of need curling in his guts, and his hand had come down on scarred skin before he’d been able to stop himself. He’d fix it as soon as they were away from this hellhole. “Someone gave us a helping hand before we got here. I’m still gathering data.”

Fury grunted. “Figure it out.” He disconnected.

Coulson tucked his phone away and hooked his thumb at the door. “Put him on my quinjet. Full restraints. No chances. He’s an unknown.”

“Just a sub, Coulson.” Ward licked his lower lip. “I’ll take…”

“Move!” Coulson barked at his team, turning on his heel. He didn’t have time to deal with this, but no one was touching his sub. Damn it. The last thing he needed was a sub.

*********

If there’d been two of them, Clint could’ve escaped, but six big guys marched him out of the building. He could see now that he’d bumbled his way into a major operation by a shadow organization. There was equipment everywhere, trucks, cars, and obvious detention vehicles. Their headlights illuminated the base, creating a dramatic scene of dark and light. He frantically looked for a way, anyway to get free, and that might’ve been why he missed the hood until it took his sight.

Kicking the nearest guy in the balls was a dumb idea, but it was all he had so he went with it, got plowed to the ground for his efforts, and then carried like a sack of beans. They tossed him down on a hard metal floor, and before he could even scramble, they strapped him into a kneeling position. Someone pushed him until his chest was flat against a bench, and he felt them run a wide strap through his arms. These fuckers were very good at their jobs. It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t a stress position, but he couldn’t move anything but his hands, which he used to flip them off, if they cared to look.

Trapped, unable to hear a damn thing, he hoped Natasha didn’t spend a lot of time looking for him, because they were clearly going to stuff him in a dark hole. His last second begging to the Dom hadn’t worked. He could still feel where the hand had landed on his back, but it hadn’t meant anything, which was fine. The last damn thing he needed was a Dom, not after his last one. It just meant his trick had failed, and he was probably getting that bullet after all.

That was also the last time he was swallowing his pride and pressing his face to someone’s shoe. Next time, he’d go out fighting and grinning. He noticed the engine vibrations under his chest increasing, and he clenched his fists over and over again, trying to breathe in a bag when he felt like he was suffocating. He pressed his lips together so he didn’t accidentally make noise.

********

Coulson purposely came up on the quinjet from the front, more than ready to leave but always careful.

“Coulson’s a damn robot! He won’t keep him, and then I’ll be fucking that sweet ass.” Ward never seemed to master the art of whispering. “And those big eyes. I’ll make him cry.”

None of the other agents cheered, but there was a murmur, with an undercurrent tone of agreement. Coulson whipped around the corner and jumped into the back vertically, bypassing the ramp. Every agent took a seat damn fast, except Ward, who was busy standing over Coulson’s sub, pumping his hips in the air. The only thing that saved his life was the simple fact that he wasn’t actually touching the sub. Coulson smoothed his hand down his tie.

“Agent Ward, please find another mode of transport back to base.” His voice snapped so hard that three agents flinched as Ward spun to face him and flushed, visible even in the low lighting of the quinjet. “Now.”

Ward stalked to him, trying to use his height to intimidate a superior office. And that was just stupid. Coulson motioned for the ramp to be raised. “Agent Ward, you have three seconds.”

Coulson didn’t do him the courtesy of watching him flee, and he did because a sense of survival kicked in before the ramp closed. Taking the seat next to his sub, Coulson fastened his seat belt, made sure all the other agents aboard refused to meet his gaze, and then turned his attention to his bound sub. The position was one designed to show subs they had no control over their fate going forward.

“He kicked me in the nuts,” Agent Cho growled. “Went down fighting.”

For some reason, Coulson had to bite back a smile. “Did he say anything?”

“Not a word. Grunted a couple of times.”

It was suspicious. Subs babbled. Subs begged. Subs tried to talk every situation to death. Coulson, despite his reputation as a robot, had entertained many subs over the years, and they talked. He analyzed the clenching fists and lines of tensed muscles. It was wrong to want to calm him. A little panic never hurt anyone and would help SHIELD in the upcoming interrogation, but after a long pause, Coulson stretched out his hand, loosened the strap over the sub’s back a notch and left his hand there. Not pressing, just resting, and the quinjet achieved altitude before he felt the sub start to relax. Flaring his nostrils, he took in the scent of him, sweat and dirt, and he liked it. Too soon this sub would drench himself in a fancy perfume.

“Do you think he’s a sex slave?” Cho asked.

“Dressed in all black? With military boots on? And the sense to kick you in the nuts?” Coulson liked a good puzzle. “More likely an actual prisoner of AIM, but we’ll see.”

Cho took another look at the sub, and Coulson hoped progress was being made. Too many Doms never learned to think, to analyze. They let their emotions rule them. It was damn annoying. The instant the quinjet touched down, Coulson got to his feet.

“Agent Cho, I am due to de-brief with Director Fury.” Coulson made sure they were all listening, not playing on their phone. “You and your team need to escort my sub to interrogation room four. I will be extremely disappointed if he’s injured in any way.”

It was a small promotion for Cho, since Ward had previously been their leader. Cho stood. He looked down at his phone and then back up. “Yes, sir.”

The ramp started to lower, and Coulson took a step that direction. “Tell Ward to report to me when he gets here and watch your balls.” He smirked and strode away. 

********

They unstrapped him, pulled him to his feet, but no one punched him. He took that as a win. Even deaf and blinded by the hood, he knew where they were in relationship to his steel-toed boots. Kicking a few more nutsacks might be satisfying, but at this point it seemed stupid to try. He supposed that was why they’d restrained him in a kneeling position, teaching him his place in this new world.

It was a thing with Doms. They liked trying to teach him that. He took a deep breath, hating the hood. Whatever he’d have done in the next second de-railed because they were messing with the cuffs on his wrists. Hope that they were taking them off made him stop, and it was only when he was pushed forward that he realized they’d attached a long pole (for their sake, it better be long) to him. He charged forward and grunted in satisfaction when he landed a kick on soft flesh, but they yanked him back. Stumbling, he barely kept his feet, and now he was really screwed.

The ramp nearly put him on his knees, and he hated them for this, but he walked. Anywhere had a better chance of escape than where he’d been. These guys were a lot smarter than AIM, that was for sure. His nose barely worked behind the hood, but he smelled tarmac, ocean, and he was fairly sure from the length of the walk in the open air that he was on an aircraft carrier. That made no sense, but his life never did. They prodded him to walk faster, so he didn’t, even slowing his steps. No one touched him. They were pushy with the pole though, and he was glad when they clearly went through a door, cutting off the wind.

They wound around and down, and stairs were a bitch, but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of him falling. Finally, when he was ready to bite something, they stopped pushing. He waited for a touch, anything, but nothing happened. He counted to a hundred in his mind and then began to fight the cuffs. They were still impossible to get off. The pole was still there, so he tried to pull with no luck. They’d attached it to something, probably part of a wall. He sucked air through his mouth and used a leg to feel if there was anything close. Nothing. To this point, he’d been patient, even somewhat good, but he was starting to get pissed, and he needed to piss. And sleep. And god, food would be nice. His stomach growled at him, and he carefully settled to his knees and then sat on his butt. There was just enough reach from the damn pole for him to lie on his side, and he rested his head on the floor.

Fuck his life.

********

“Really, Cheese?”

“Just. Shut up.” Coulson was well aware they sounded like teenagers. “I panicked.”

“The unflappable Phil Coulson panicked.” Fury’s voice dripped with disbelief. He nudged his chair back from his desk, rummaged in the drawer and smiled when he came up with a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. “Are you sure you’re just not horny? I could’ve sent the service over.”

“No.” Coulson stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling ridiculous and hating it. He still didn’t know why he’d done it, not exactly. It’d felt right, but he wasn’t saying that to Fury. “He kicked Cho in the balls.”

“Should’ve nailed Ward.” Fury laughed. “Okay, he’s yours. Figure it out. Now, what are you doing about Ward. That boy is offensive.”

“He is. His mentorship under Garrett made him worse.” Coulson didn’t like either of them. Not that ‘liking’ mattered in their business, but his instincts told him not to trust.

“Get rid of him.” Fury nodded, drinking half the bottle. Coulson turned his back, hiding his distaste. He sighed. Fury shoved his chair away, making a squeak, and Coulson gave him attention again. “I mean it.” Fury came around his desk, and they went out the door. Coulson made sure he was half-step behind. He’d do it. The FBI was always sniffing around, looking for Doms. Ward would love it there.

“And Garrett?”

Fury shrugged. “He’s about one step from me showing him who’s the big dog in this little organization.”

The growl in Fury’s voice made Coulson naturally lower his head. A weaker Dom would’ve knelt. Halfway to interrogation, Fury stopped and rounded on him. “I have a feeling about this sub of yours.”

“One of those feelings I hate?”

“Yup.”

“Shit.” Coulson rolled his eyes and got out his phone. “I guess I’ll do a full workup instead of the sex slave idea I’d had planned.”

“Sarcasm is anger’s ugly cousin.” Fury went on without him, and Coulson sighed before calling up medical and having them send a tech for the usual run of blood tests. He tapped the interrogation app and frowned down at his phone. His sub was… dead? Hurrying now, he might’ve alarmed the guards as he demanded they open the damn door. He rushed inside, going to his knees, and heard the snore coming from inside the hood. More relieved than he’d ever admit, he stopped himself from touching.

“Never seen that before.”

“Must’ve been really tired.”

Coulson nearly rolled his eyes at the two guards. “Did you speak to him?”

“Nah.”

“Agent Cho said to leave him alone or kiss our balls goodbye. I like my balls.”

Detention Doms weren’t the brightest. Coulson noticed the snoring had stopped and there was a line of tension in the sub’s arms. “Well, Sleeping Beauty’s awake.” He tugged at the hood, taking it off without snagging an ear. The sub blinked up at him, scrunching up his face in clear bewilderment.

“Get some coffee, please.” Coulson tossed the hood at the nearest guard. He was impressed anyone could sleep so tightly confined. First, he released the elbow restraints and then he went to work on the pole and cuffs. Without any leg restraints, he was taking a risk, but he was very confident in his ability to handle one exhausted sub.

And that was the thought he was left with when the sub disappeared out the door, moving at a speed that shouldn’t be possible after being constrained for hours.

“Quick little bugger.”

The door slammed, locking them inside. Somewhere, Coulson was sure Fury was laughing.

********

Clint only ran a short distance and then fell into a smooth stride that looked purposeful. He was dressed to fit in but it didn’t much matter because even an idiot could’ve spotted all the surveillance cameras. Since he was fucked, he moved faster, searching desperately and when he found a restroom he nearly cheered. He’d never opened his pants any faster, and he nearly groaned at the relief. God, he hated jail. He half-expected to hear sirens whooping, and he knew that if his Dom hadn’t been angry before, well, he was now. The guy looked strict, like, one of those Doms that wouldn’t let a guy leave his socks on the floor. Clint wondered as he washed his hands if he could back out of his impulsive earlier move. Probably the guy would be grateful to pass Clint off. After all, no one ever wanted to keep him, not for long.

Running his wet hands through his crazy hair, Clint made himself look a little less like an escaped convict. Back out in the hallway, he kept moving, hoping to find the cafeteria. Still, no alarms, and he was shocked when he actually smelled food. He headed that way quickly, grabbed a tray, and got in line. He smiled at anyone who glanced at him and piled it on, even grabbing a bottle of Gatorade, blue, of course. The empty table in the back corner was perfect, and he took a deep breath before shoving enough food in his mouth to make his stomach stop yowling.

Halfway through the heap on his tray, corn and mashed potatoes were incredible mixed together, a big guy with only one eye took the seat opposite him. Patch only had a cup of coffee, no food, and Clint knew his brief run of freedom was over, but oh, the meat loaf had been worth it. Clint wiped his mouth with his napkin, took a drink of his Gatorade, and went back to eating, completely ignoring him. It was easy since he was deaf. The pie was fucking amazing, and he hoped he got to eat here again someday. Subs were probably on MREs, but that ugly thought could wait.

Fingers waggled under his face, and he looked up, smiling, watching Patch talk without being obnoxious about it. Of course, he got every word, but answering was problematic. Natasha said he was a yeller without his hearing aids, and he was always a little ashamed of his thick-tongued accent. He’d been deaf for years, and that side effect was normal, but he didn’t like it. After a few seconds of watching him talk about rules, he started on his cake. He used his fork. He had manners. When he glanced up again, Patch raised his eyebrow at him. Clint had another quick decision to make. He could go with sign language, try to use his words, knowing that he’d sound retarded, or he could ask for pen and use a napkin.

He went with the pen option. He smiled and made a motion like writing. Patch frowned and then rummaged in his leather duster, coming up with a pen. Clint took it carefully and then pulled a napkin between them.

Patch nodded, and Clint fisted the pen, hating the judgement that was coming his way. He’d graduated second grade for god’s sake. Even for subs, that was bad. He focused and wrote: DEF. There was probably another letter in there but he wasn’t sure which one. Patch stared down at the word and then looked up with a furrowed brow. He pointed at his ear, and Clint nodded, cupping his hands over his ears. Instead of watching for the laughter, he drank his Gatorade and wished he’d grabbed a brownie.

Fingers in his face again, so he looked. Patch had written something, and Clint stared down at the letters. He was pretty sure it said that the guy was angry. Wait. Those were capital letters. That meant something else. Clint frowned and gave up with a shrug, picking up the pen. He carefully wrote: STUPD. Just in case, Patch hadn’t figured that out about him.

Whatever Patch would’ve replied didn’t matter because Clint’s Dom was suddenly just there, standing next to the table, gun pointed, and Clint didn’t think. He slid to his knees, pulled his shirt up for his beating, and was so glad he’d gotten to eat in case he was being shot. As a last meal, it’d been excellent. The guys that worked here were lucky.

********

“Don’t try to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Fury sipped his coffee, fiddling with a pen. The motion drew Coulson’s attention, and he stared for a moment at the napkin. The words sunk in, smoothing away some of the rage and embarrassment. Not all of it though, and gossip was already spreading that he’d been outwitted in interrogation. He narrowed his eyes, flicked on the safety, and holstered his weapon. His hand went to his belt buckle, and he saw out of the corner of his eye a group of subs wince at the idea of a public beating before picking up their trays as a group and leaving.

“Damn it.” Coulson slid around his sub and took the vacated seat, pushing the tray to the other end of the table. Without thinking, he sat the Gatorade down on the floor, in case his sub was still thirsty. “He’s deaf and illiterate.”

“Didn’t understand a word I wrote.” Fury nodded. “Funny thing, I passed him in the hallway, got to my desk and nearly fish-slapped myself. I came down here to tackle him, only to discover he was having a relationship with the meat loaf, which is good, but nowhere near as good as my grandma’s.”

“So, you had coffee and giggled.”

“Yup.” Fury made a hand motion to one of the staff who got Coulson his own cup and a refill. “I talked his ear off throughout an entire meal. The hilarity of that should cheer you up.”

“Does he read lips?” Coulson might look up the surveillance video later.

“Doesn’t seem like it.” Fury shrugged. “He’s taken a few beatings. Wonder if any of them worked?”

Coulson looked down at his sub’s scarred back. He could see whip marks, belt marks, knife wounds, and what might be a scar from a bullet. With an easy hand, he pulled the shirt out of his sub’s grip and down to cover him.

“I highly doubt it.” Coulson sipped his hot coffee, forcing his body to relax. “I can say with certainty that he’s very quick on his feet.”

A snort, and then Fury said, “You can beat him in private later, but he was really hungry.”

“He also stopped to piss.” Coulson was starting to see the humor in the situation. “I assume he washed his hands.”

“We can hope.”

Reaching down, Coulson tucked his hand under the sub’s chin and raised him so he was kneeling upright. Their eyes met, and after a beat or two, Coulson thought his sub would look away. His sub met his eyes fearlessly, which was a first, and then, after longer than anyone else in Coulson’s life, deliberately looked elsewhere, as if it were a gift. Coulson felt a pulse of desire in his groin, and he heard Fury chuckle.

“Looks like you finally met your match.”

“I’d intended to sell him.” Coulson liked challenges and mysteries, and this sub was both. “But there’s no rush.”

“Keep telling yourself that. My gut says different.” Fury eased to his feet. He left with only a small swirl of leather. Coulson wrapped his hands around his coffee mug and ignored his sub, just to let him know who was in charge. It might have been a lost effort though because he was guzzling Gatorade.

********

The urge to dash off was a strong one, but at this point, Clint just wasn’t that stupid. He was caught, for now, and he was lucky his Dom hadn’t shot him, at least in the leg. Wiping his mouth with his arm, he waited on his knees, glad when the coffee was finally done. He bounced to his feet as soon as he saw the crooked finger, and he followed his Dom down the hallways at a respectful five feet back. He’d learned the hard way that closer meant getting punched.

His Dom stopped and turned completely around. Clint froze, sure he was getting that beating now. He should go to his knees, but he was curious as to how this was going to go. Being put on his knees was always a good test of how rough a Dom intended to be in the future. Clint didn’t even twitch a muscle as the Dom walked up to him and then circled him. Making a plan to do something painful to him was Clint’s best guess.

A strong, firm hand clasped him on the shoulder and nudged him forward. He frowned, not hating the touch, and then he got it. His Dom wanted to push him along, one step to the front, keeping the hand on him. He was leading the way, except he wasn’t, and it was damn odd. It even made him twitchy. Glancing over his shoulder, he met blue eyes that didn’t seem to have an ounce of kindness in them, and he kept walking. If he was being led to an auction, he wouldn’t have been surprised, but when he pushed open a swinging door to find himself in something like a hospital, he was shocked.

Subs didn’t go to hospitals. Well, maybe fancy subs who had some value, but not gutter subs like him. In fact, he was fairly sure it was illegal to take subs to hospitals in Iowa. Everything had changed once Trump became president. They’d shut down the clinics that helped subs get health care of any kind. No money in the budgets they claimed, but Clint and every sub in the country knew it was about keeping subs pregnant and at home. Or in the case of male subs, just at home.

He must’ve been staring in shock because his Dom gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. Nurses came towards them, both male and female, and Clint twisted and slid until he was directly behind his Dom. Maybe his Dom was sick, or injured from fighting AIM. He crossed his arms, determined to behave in front of hospital people.

When his Dom turned and pushed him at a nurse, who took him by the arm, he almost started punching in fear, but the nurse smiled and he realized she was a sub. Stunned, he went along without complaint. They stripped him naked, pointed at the shower, and the hot water made him groan. There was even nice soap, and he stayed in as long as possible. His Dom actually came in the bathroom and snapped the water off, tossing a towel at him. Clint couldn’t help it. He grinned, scrubbing the water away. The nurse shooed his Dom away, and then they were at him, drawing blood, taking x-rays, a whole bunch of tests that he didn’t understand, and it would’ve been rude to protest because they were all so damn nice. They poked around in his ears, and then had him stare at a big chart. He raised his eyebrows, and a nurse pointed at each letter. Since he could see them all clearly, he nodded each time until she got to the smallest, last letter. She frowned a little so he made the hand sign for the letter. Her eyes crinkled now, and then they finally found him some sweats and a t-shirt. He had a feeling his boots were gone forever.

From there, it was a battery of tests for flexibility and balance, and he decided to fail them all, even though it was hard. He couldn’t show off. That was a bad idea. They didn’t glare at him, but he was careful to make it look good.

They lead him back towards the front and his Dom was waiting with a tablet in his arm. His Dom held up the tablet and it was a video of him lunging forward, balancing easily and nailing someone right in the balls while hooded and bound. His Dom narrowed his eyes. Clint hung his head, knowing he’d been caught. They re-did the tests, and this time, he showed off, just a little, to see their eyes widen. Also, he wanted to show Natasha that video someday. They’d laugh together.

Finally, they led him back to his Dom, and he tried to thank them for being gentle by smiling and giving one nurse a hug. His Dom clapped his strong hand back on Clint’s shoulder and they were moving again. Clint wondered if this would be a habit because he wasn’t sure he liked it.

His bare feet slapped against the cold floor, but he couldn’t hear it. If someone had asked, he would’ve told them that he needed a nap, and he almost regretted flushing his hearing aids. He knew they wouldn’t give him new ones. He might be able to earn them, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to pay that bill.

The hand pulled him to a stop, and his Dom used his thumb to open a door. Clint obediently followed him inside instead of running away, but it was close. He pressed his back to the door as he glanced around a well-appointed office. It even had a small sofa, which he supposed he’d never be allowed to sit on, not that he cared. He sighed. Movement caught his eye, and he looked at his Dom, who pointed to the sofa. Clint scooted, snatching up the pillow and finding a comfortable spot in moments, not even glancing at the Dom so he didn’t take it away. There was a small blanket on the back of the sofa, and Clint pulled it down and got under it. He shut his eyes and pretended he was in Natasha’s apartment, safe and sound.

*********

It was probably against the law in Texas, but those big eyes staring lovingly at the tiny, uncomfortable sofa had broken Coulson’s will to be an asshole. Not that he’d ever admit it. He took a couple of Tylenol for his headache, and his sub was to all appearances already asleep. The sub had given Nurse Ramirez a hug for shit’s sake. She’d blushed all the way to her feet.

Coulson had sent the sub’s clothes off to Forensics, hoping to shed some light on what he’d been doing in the AIM compound. It didn’t much matter though, because Fury wanted this sub in SHIELD, and that was the only important fact. A snore made Coulson roll his eyes as the reports from medical and forensics began to pop up in his mailbox. Ignoring all that for a moment, he searched his desk for the collar he’d discarded after his last sub had gone her way. If she hadn’t been so talented at computers, she’d still be with him, maybe.

Bottom drawer, under a box of Kleenex, he located it. He pulled it out and dropped it on his desk. It wasn’t fancy or worth millions. He wasn’t even sure which relative had gifted it to him so long ago.

The beep of a text had his hand moving before he thought about it. It was Jasper.

*R U collaring him*

Jasper knew Coulson hated texting. Coulson answered. *Yes.*

*Poor guy*

With a snort, Coulson tucked his phone away. The collar was a disgrace, but it’d do. He wouldn’t have this sub long. Fury would see to that. After refilling his coffee, he started opening reports: traces of blood on the black shirt, blood on his boots, and residue from gunfire on his pants. He was completely deaf, had eyesight off the charts, and showed no sign of genetic manipulation or blood anomalies. AIM hadn’t experimented on him, if he had been a prisoner. Coulson had his doubts about that. Another report popped up, and the blood was definitely not the sub’s. Medical showed bruises, contusions, and healed bones.

Sitting back, Coulson indulged in his coffee and a package of powered donuts. He wondered about Fury’s gut because his gut was saying that they’d captured a wild card. Subs weren’t killers, unless it was a murder of passion. Whoever had killed all those men at the AIM base had done so methodically.

The report on fingerprints and facial recognition came in, and Coulson opened it immediately. “Well, hello Clint Barton.”

Clint was too busy snoring to reply. Coulson fell down the rabbit hole that was Barton’s life, and when he came up for air, his coffee was cold. He drank it anyway. Barton needed therapy, that was certain, and now, they had to figure out a way to communicate.

A knock on his door, and he got it without yelling, like usual. A young medic handed him a box. “Hearing aids for your sub, sir.”

Coulson was glad someone was smarter than him. He put the aids on his desk, refreshed his coffee, and considered whether or not he’d been wrong in assigning a sub designation to Barton. Frowning, he went through the medical report again, but they had agreed with him. Barton was a sub, unsuited to killing people, which lead Coulson to the conclusion that there had been two of them. A Dom had left Barton behind on the job and the sub had crawled under a bunk to hide. Not that Barton didn’t have skills. He clearly did, but that scenario explained the situation.

The lack of snoring made Coulson look, and Barton was halfway to sitting, rubbing his eyes, and yawning. Coulson almost smiled but stopped himself just in time. It was never a good idea to show affection towards a new sub.

“Where’s your Dom?” Coulson asked, watching Barton’s eyes to see if he would lip read.

Barton wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, not even looking at Coulson, much less his lips or face. Coulson huffed in irritation as Barton didn’t even glance at him. Waving his hand seemed undignified, so he got to his feet. Barton’s gaze snapped to him, brow furrowing, hands betraying his anxiety by clenching in the blanket. 

Now, feeling on the spot, Coulson crossed to him and loomed, trying to look a little scary. He must’ve succeeded because his sub swallowed hard. Of course, Barton wasn’t really his sub, just an abandoned one. Peering, Coulson couldn’t see marks from a recently removed collar, and medical hadn’t mentioned any bruises around the neck.

Half expecting Barton to bolt out the door, Coulson skipped his fingers along Barton’s jaw and let his hand linger on the strong, muscled neck. Barton must live in the gym, or his previous Dom had him on a serious regimen. The thought of another Dom made Coulson growl softly, and Barton licked his lower lip. Just a flick of the tongue, and Coulson was rock hard.

“You’re mine,” Coulson whispered. The thought that Barton couldn’t hear him didn’t diminish his erection.

********

The tent in his Dom’s pants was dead easy to spot, and Clint was starting to hate all the quick decisions he was being forced to make. He had to play this right, or he’d never escape, and Coulson was tough to read. The hand on his neck was warm, gentle, and it threw Clint for a loop. Everyone shoved him down and fucked him hard. Well, not Natasha, but she was non-dynamic.

Clint decided reluctantly to do nothing, not play the slut or the flirt. If he were honest, he was tired, so tired of his own dynamic being used to hurt him. Asses weren’t self-lubricating for fuck’s sake. His Dom stepped back to the desk and then came right to him again, holding something in his hand. Clint frowned, and then he understood. It was absolutely the worst collar he’d ever seen. It was nothing more than a leather thong with a fifty-cent sized medallion threaded through it by a hole. The medallion was copper, guaranteed to turn his neck green.

It was impossible not to chuckle, understanding his worth and somewhat relieved. No emotional attachment with this Dom. Some fucking, some sucking, and then shuffled off to a new owner, at which Clint would be in the wind within five minutes.

His Dom pulled it around Clint’s neck and snapped the magnets without even a word of commitment. Clint glanced up at him but he was already turning away to the desk again, and this time the box was recognizable as hearing aids. His Dom didn’t make him beg. He just handed them to him and pointed at Clint’s ears. Clint let the blanket pool in his lap, leaning back a little and concentrating on getting them seated correctly. They were nice ones, and maybe the expense of these offset the crappy collar, not that he cared. It was a heavy collar, easily spotted. No one would think him unclaimed, and maybe that was the point.

When Clint was satisfied, he focused outward and his Dom was back at his desk, pointing at a chair across from him. It was weird, but Clint crept over there and sat, feeling as if he’d screwed up.

“What’s your name?” The Dom’s voice was smooth, unhurried, no accent to speak of, and he sounded calm, intent.

Clint narrowed his eyes. His first sentence was very important to the relationship going forward. He flicked his crap collar with a finger and decided (last one of the day) to be himself. He was done playing games to please people who only wanted to use him, fuck him, and make him kill other people for their profit. Maybe it was Natasha’s influence. Maybe it was him being tired, but he was done, so done.

“That’s how you want to play it?” Clint used his real voice, not his play sub one.

His Dom leaned back in his chair and gave him a long, steady look, no doubt intended to intimidate. Clint didn’t give him any respect, but he did adjust the volume on his hearing aids.

“Introductions are polite between strangers. I’m Agent Phil Coulson of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.”

“Huh.” Clint had never heard of them. “I’m Clint Barton, assassin and super spy, skilled in every weapon known to mankind.”

One of these days, he’d learn to be less sarcastic, but Doms hadn’t beaten it out of him yet.

“That would explain the dead bodies?”

The question let Clint know that Coulson hadn’t figured out who’d killed the boss at the AIM site. Clint shrugged. “Or maybe I’m just a homeless circus freak, thrown out when I refused to bend over for boss, and I’ve been hiding on the fringes of society ever since.”

“That does sound more likely.” Coulson nodded, moving closer to his computer now. “Who’s your Dom?”

“You.” Clint smirked. “Or did you quit already?” He flicked the cheap ass collar again, glad there was no pretense between them.

Coulson frowned. His fingers danced across the keyboard and he stared at the screen. “I see now why your back is nothing but scar tissue.”

Clint didn’t answer. He sat back a little more firmly and tucked his feet up. He probably should’ve played the helpless sub, but it was too late now. “You have any more subs I should know about? Ones with nice collars?”

Blue eyes flicked at him. “No. Tell me exactly how you came to be at our ops site?”

“I need to piss.” Clint didn’t get up. “I’m also thirsty.” He widened his eyes and tilted his head. “If I’m good, can I have my boots back?”

“I doubt you’re ever good.” Coulson smirked. “Go to the restroom. It’s down the hall on the right. I’ll order us some coffee.”

It was tempting to thank him but it was never a good idea to let Doms know they were appreciated for being reasonable. He left the door open so he could find his way back and went searching. It was tempting to make a run for the cafeteria, grab some pie, but his Dom might really shoot him this time. He didn’t hurry, strolling back in the office to discover the coffee had beat him there. Coulson already had a cup. Part of Clint wanted to just grab a mug, but he had a feeling the glint in his Dom’s eyes meant he was going to have to earn it. He curled up in his chair again and was careful not to stare longingly at the coffee.

“Did you want some, submissive?” Coulson took a sip of his own.

“Depends on what I have to do it earn it.” Clint scrubbed a hand through his hair and hoped this day ended soon. It’d started very early.

“Just tell me why you were in that cell.”

“It seemed safer to hide.” Clint didn’t make the rookie mistake of trying for the coffee. “Your guys were shooting everyone in sight.”

“You’re lucky we did a thorough search before blowing the place.” Coulson started pouring another mug, and it smelled incredible. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Yes.” Clint didn’t reach.

Coulson began to stir it lazily. “I’m surprised your Dom would run off and leave you there.”

Clint didn’t even raise his eyebrows at the crazy theory. He supposed it made sense if someone worked from the standpoint that subs were helpless. “My Doms always ditch me.” That part was true. The mug came his direction, and Clint took it. “Thank you.”

“I do appreciate manners.” Coulson seemed a trifle smug about making him wait. “Your last registered Dom is dead. Did you kill him?”

The question came out of left field like a hand grenade, and Clint admired Coulson’s skill as an interrogator. Clint smiled, took a sip, and savored the flavor of good coffee. “Yes.” He enjoyed seeing the slight flare of surprise in Coulson’s eyes. “I’d been working with him, taking out drug dealers, when he decided to sell my services to someone higher up the food chain who needed a political assassination. I wasn’t excited about that, so I moved on.”

Coulson’s blue eyes hardened. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Subs always are.” Clint chuckled softly. He hadn’t really killed Renaldo. He just hadn’t argued when Natasha shot him in the face. That had been when he’d begun to understand that Natasha would have his back. She’d be worried by now. He sighed a little. “Can you show me where I’m supposed to sleep?”

Now Coulson’s brow furrowed at the abrupt change of topic. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

Clint contorted his body to look under the desk, not surprised when there was no kneeling pad. This Dom obviously didn’t provide anything beyond the basics for his sub. The cheap-ass collar was just the beginning.

“What are you looking for, submissive?”

“Use my name, okay?” Clint hated that nameless sub/Dom crap. “And I was hoping you had a fluffy kneeling pad for me so I could pretend to pay attention and doze the day away.”

Snapped fingers drew Clint back upright. He found himself on the end of an impressive Dom glare, one designed to make him kneel and possibly quiver a little. Doing a quick gut check, Clint wasn’t feeling it. He met Coulson’s eyes and counted to ten, liking how expressive those blue eyes were. When he got to nine, he stole Coulson’s coffee and drained it. Then he picked up his own and went to the door. He looked over his shoulder at his furious Dom. “I need pie.”

And he got the hell out of Dodge.

********

A keen urge to shoot after him swept over Coulson but he’d already put his gun in his desk. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes, counting to ten in several languages.

It wasn’t long, and his phone pinged and, against his will, he looked.

*your sub is eating pie*

*like ten of them*

Coulson answered Jasper reluctantly. *I know. Thanks.*

Getting up and storming down there seemed redundant, so Coulson looked over all the medical reports again, noting the calluses on Barton’s left hand, which drew him back to earlier years of Barton’s life. From there, he went to police reports from all over the world. It took an hour to find all the connections, but when he was done, he was sure. He got to his feet, snarled, and left his gun behind in his desk. He didn’t trust himself not to use it.

His sub, Clint, was grinning amidst what looked like more desserts than any man’s stomach could handle. Coulson marched right to him. “You’re a goddamn assassin!” He might’ve even shouted.

Clint saluted him with his fork. “Not like I lied.”

“Up. Now.” Coulson felt like decking him, but he throttled it all down. “Now!”

Several forks hit the floor, and silence reigned, but Clint just wiped his mouth and pushed his plate away. Finally, he got to his feet and let out a tremendous belch. “At least I’m dying happy.”

Taking him by the scruff of the neck, Coulson propelled him out of the cafeteria. “How many did you kill at the AIM base?”

“Not as many as you did.” Clint didn’t struggle, but he was glad when the hand shifted down to his shoulder. “Someone very rich has a grudge against AIM and the Ten Rings, and I’ve been taking advantage of it. Not a crime.” He bit back the smile. “Well…”

“Yes, it’s a crime, just not morally wrong since they’re a bunch of terrorists.” Coulson wanted to snap and snarl at him. “I knew I should’ve sold you.”

“Not too late.” Clint flicked his collar again, in a manner that Coulson knew was an insult. “You can get enough to buy a real collar for your next sub.”

They rounded a corner, and Fury fell into step next to him. “Taking him out back to the wood shed?”

“You knew.”

“I suspected. A guy that goes by the name of Hawkeye probably isn’t a sex slave.”

“I might’ve sold him!”

“I’d have stopped you.” Fury got the last door, opening it with his thumb. “And he’s not wrong about that collar.”

“It’s a family heirloom from World War Two, so it stays. Now.” Coulson motioned for the specialist in charge of the range to bring them a gun. He started handing out ear protection. “Show us, Hawkeye.”

Clint sighed loud enough to be termed obnoxious. “My stomach is full of pie.”

Fury handed over his personal firearm. “Impress me,” he said.

“I see no advantage to that.” Clint didn’t take the gun, instead giving it a side-eye. “I’m retired. That was my last job. Subs aren’t cut out for it anyway. I was going to take my five million and settle some place where Doms aren’t required, like the moon.”

Coulson looked at Fury and raised his eyebrows. “My shooting record is safe.” He added an obnoxious smirk. “Can I sell him now?”

“Five million? For that little base?” Fury frowned. “Has to be Stark,” he muttered. “Okay, Cheese, he’s retired. Use him as a sex slave.”

Barton had the balls to roll his eyes, taking the gun and turning to the target. His hands worked the clip, dissembling the gun and snapping it back together in record time. He didn’t even appear to look, firing until the guy was empty. He handed it back to Fury. “Sex slave. Funny.”

“You got the ass for it.” Fury grinned and took his gun to reload.

Coulson squinted, worked the button to pull the target closer, and yanked it down. “One shot through the center target. That’s great. Really.” He rolled his eyes in imitation of Barton. “Sex it is.”

Fury took the target and stared. “Play back the video. Slow-mo.”

It took a minute but Coulson got it ready and hit play. His jaw might’ve dropped when he saw all the bullets going through the same hole. “Is that even possible?”

“For me, yes.” Barton waved the specialist over and took a Glock from him. He went through the motions again of checking the ammo, settled his ear protection, closed his eyes, and fired until the clip was empty. He opened his eyes, put the gun down, and looked at the target. “Not bad. I’m better with a rifle or a bow.”

Coulson was damn impressed, but he tried not to show it. “Guess he’s hired.”

“My gut’s never wrong. Get him settled.” Fury patted Barton on the head. “Good boy.”

Barton snapped his teeth at him, which was ridiculous. Coulson slipped his hand around Barton’s neck, just holding him until his eyes actually dropped. “Looks like you get to keep me.”

“Lucky me.”

Coulson kept him on the range until he had scores on every weapon SHIELD owned, not giving up even when they got down to derringers, and the range master looked dazed. “A bow, you said? Like a bow and arrow?”

“My best thing.” Barton handed back the small caliber handgun. “This gun is ridiculous. A slingshot would be more effective. Got one of those?”

It was impossible not to sigh. Coulson looked the sub up and down again, recalibrating his thinking again and still not quite able to believe it. “You’re an assassin.”

“I’m starting to think that you’re not as bright as you look.” Barton returned his perusal. He clapped his hands together. “This was fun. Want me to throw knives now? I love a good set of knives.”

“Kneel,” Coulson growled, unable to stop himself. His Dom side needed proof, again, that he was dealing with a sub. “Down.”

Barton raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t hesitate for any length of time. He knelt, hands in his lap, chin level, eyes down, and he looked so beautiful that Coulson couldn’t breathe for a moment.

“Not yours,” Barton said, without a trace of submission in his voice.

Coulson didn’t trust himself to speak. He wanted this man so badly his cock actually ached with it. “Yes, you are.” He tugged him up, put his hand on Barton’s shoulder, and took him back to his office. “I need to finish up and then we’ll head to my quarters.”

Barton eyed the desk, the floor, and the sofa, before slipping over there and sprawling in a move designed to infuriate a Dom. For some reason, it made Coulson smile. When he received his sub’s honest submission, it would be sweeter than anything he’d ever experienced, and waiting would only make it better.

Quickly, Coulson finished Barton’s file, bringing it up to date with his range scores and confirming his sexual expression, fiercely glad Barton wasn’t non-dynamic.

********

Clint dozed, not really asleep but close enough. He’d enjoyed firing all those different guns. Some of them he’d never fired before, and a few of those rifles had been absolute top of the line. No doubt that Coulson thought he’d found himself a sniper. Clint would humor them and then fade away as soon as they stuck him somewhere up high. Natasha would be worried. Of course, she might know where he was. She was so smart, much smarter than him.

“Let’s go,” Coulson said.

Groaning, Clint got to his feet and shambled out the door with the strong hand on his shoulder. He didn’t rush, and when someone stopped to talk to Coulson, he didn’t kneel as was customary. Clint yawned instead and tugged on his ear. These aids were good ones, but he’d need a break from them soon. The hand started steering him again, and Clint couldn’t decide if it annoyed him or not.

“I could walk behind, ya know, like normal subs do,” Clint grumbled.

“You’d run off for pie.” Coulson didn’t even break stride. Clint slumped a little further but gave no resistance as they walked about two miles through an elaborate maze of hallways and doors. Finally, he was tugged to a stop, and Coulson opened a door, making sure Clint went inside first.

It was small, but nice, decorated in a modern style and the sofa looked comfortable. Clint froze, not sure what to do. Some Doms demanded subs crawl everywhere, and some Doms wanted their subs naked once they crossed the threshold: it was impossible to even take a step as he catalogued the small apartment, noting several places where he thought weapons were hidden. He noticed there was no kitchen, which made sense.

“It’s not the Ritz, but I don’t mind it,” Coulson said, starting to tug his jacket off.

Clint wasn’t ever going to mention that it was damn nice, and he wasn’t helping him undress. Oh, hell, no. He managed a sort of side-shuffle and eyed the one door that probably led to a bedroom with a bathroom. Being in the bedroom wasn’t a great idea, but maybe he could hide in the bathroom.

“You have a sub pad for me to sleep on? Or is it the floor for me?” Clint flicked the damn collar again, wondering about Coulson’s claim that it was a family heirloom. Doms lied, but it was an old one.

“You think I’m letting you sleep?” Coulson’s laughing question made Clint sigh at his own stupidity. Why did he even try to talk to Doms? In a way though, he had his answer. The Dom would fuck him half the night, and then Clint would curl up in a corner to catch an hour or two. If he were lucky, his ass wouldn’t leak come all night. Clint licked his lips and considered the door.

Coulson caught him by the arm, and Clint clinched his hands into fists and waited for it. Clint should’ve dropped his eyes, hell, to his knees, but it’d been a long day, and he missed Natasha.

“You can stop flashing your teeth at me.” Coulson’s voice was mild, but he didn’t turn him loose. “The door locks to my thumbprint both in and out. There are no windows, and you can’t fit into the vents.”

“Good to know,” Clint ground out, wishing he’d picked a dumber Dom to give his submission.

“My gun is in my desk, and there are no weapons here.”

Clint didn’t call him on that lie. “My ears hurt.” He went with something totally unrelated to mess with him. “I need to take them out.” He could see by Coulson’s face that he didn’t believe him. “They’re new, and I’m not use to this style.”

Finally, Coulson shrugged, turning loose of him. “Do what you need to do, but I’m fairly sure you just want to spare yourself the yelling I’d planned for you.”

“Like I care.” Clint figured those three words would get him a beating, but he went for the door, finding the bathroom and washing his hands before starting to remove them. They did ache, and he hoped he got use to them soon. There was no box to put them in because that was back in the office, so he carefully put them on a Kleenex sorta out of the way, and hoped they’d be there in the morning. Finished, he slunk out to the bedroom for his pounding, but Coulson was nowhere to be seen so Clint found a corner to slide into and sit on the floor.

Natasha was gonna kill him.

Clint dropped his head back and shut his eyes. He’d really screwed up this time.

********

The knock on the door was expected, and the dirty smirk on Jasper’s face as he extended the box for the hearing aids was also. “You fuck him yet?”

“Why do I always feel like you’re running a book on these types of things?” Coulson took the box and didn’t block Jasper from coming inside.

“No idea.” Jasper’s eyes went to the bedroom door. “Got him tied up?”

“He’s taking out his hearing aids. Hence, the box.” Coulson rolled his eyes. “He’ll be a sniper. A full agent once he learns a few things. I’m not going to screw that up.”

Jasper sighed. “Crap. Lost that bet. Okay, gotta go.” He was out the door quick enough that Coulson didn’t get a chance to whap him on the back of the head. Door shut, he went to into the bedroom, stopping cold when he saw his sub, curled up in a corner, looking sad and lost. So far, all Coulson had seen was attitude, which he could handle, but this vulnerability struck hard at his defenses. Clint wasn’t even that old, and he’d clearly been abused. He needed a gentle touch, not the back of Coulson’s hand. Sighing, Coulson checked the bathroom, put the aids away carefully, and went to stare down at him. Common decency insisted he find a Dom for Clint who would pamper him, but Coulson took a deep breath and couldn’t do it. Clint belonged to him, even if he didn’t know it yet.

********


	2. Natasha

********

She waited for him, long past the moment she knew he wasn’t coming. Then she waited some more even though it was hopeless. He’d taken the job because it was easy money, and she’d agreed, but now he was missing. She was going to kill him, if he wasn’t already dead.

Cursing at him in Russian was less satisfying when he wasn’t around to roll his eyes at her. It wasn’t her fault she loved him. She’d tried very hard not to, only giving in when it was clear that he was too stupid to survive on his own.

Leaving the rendezvous area, she was careful, but if someone had him, he hadn’t given her up. She wasn’t a fool to believe he couldn’t be broken. Anyone could be broken, and the thought of her Clint, torn to pieces made her clench her teeth.

Three days later, settled in a safe house that Clint had no knowledge of, she checked the off-shore account, and her eyebrows went up as she saw the money had been paid. So, Clint had been successful, but he hadn’t come home. She quickly transferred the money to another account, in case Stark planned to renege on the deal. That done, she went to get dressed in an outfit that could kill.

********

“Your three o’clock is here, Mr. Stark.”

Tony looked up from his computer interface and squinted at her. “What?”

Pepper gave him that look. “You’re in your office. You take appointments. It’s what CEOs do for a living.”

“Damn it.” Stark leaned back in his chair and smirked because it annoyed her. “Promise me it’ll never happen again.”

She actually rolled her eyes at him before leaving to escort in his appointment. He sat up very straight and tried to look both charming and commanding.

“Natalie Rushman,” Pepper said. She paused. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“Thank you, Miss Potts.” He gestured to the seat directly in front of his desk and tried not to drool as Rushman folded herself down into it, crossed her legs, and smiled at him. “How can I help you, Ms. Rushman?”

She leaned slightly forward to give him a better view of her cleavage. He might’ve licked his lips, even though he wasn’t getting a sub vibe off her at all. Not that he was prejudice against Doms, he just usually fell into bed with subs, usually.

“We have a problem,” she said, voice smooth as great whiskey. “In the matter of an off-shore account, number 18--.”

“Jarvis, go dark, full spectrum, initiate security protocol seven.” Stark came around the side of the desk fast and stood right over her, but even he could tell she wasn’t worried. “What do you want?”

“My asset is missing.” She drawled out the words.

Stark leaned against the front of his desk. “And this is my issue, because…”

“He did your dirty work. He’s missing, and I will destroy you if you don’t help me find out what happened.” She eased up and traced a long nail down the side of his face. “That’s why it’s your issue.”

“Sweetheart, you talk a big game.” Stark sniffed, dismissing her threat. “How about we talk instead about how I’ll snoop around for your asset and how you’ll suck me off for doing it?”

She laughed, and that somehow was scarier than her threat. “You find Hawkeye, and I won’t kill your Miss Potts. That’s the deal.”

The breath slammed from his body, but all he did was narrow his eyes. “You won’t touch her, or I’ll kill you so fast you’ll never see me coming.”

She stared right into his eyes. “You see? That’s how much I want Hawkeye.”

He took a deep breath. “Point taken. I suppose I did hire him.” He shrugged, not wanting to look weak but willing to negotiate. “I’ll find out.”

“I’ll wait in Pepper’s office.” She didn’t wait for a dismissal, and he wanted to snarl after her. He should have her shot, but he had a nasty feeling that she’d find a way to take Pepper with her. That was a woman who should never be underestimated.

“Jarvis, let’s find Hawkeye.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

********

Potts seemed a little confused as to why Natasha was waiting, but she bubbled about, offering a cool drink and making small talk. Natasha took it all as her due, and she kept a sharp eye on the hallway, just in case Stark sent security after her.

“Are you sure you’re a Dom?” Natasha inquired gently, before sipping her lemon water.

“Class two, caretaker Dom,” Potts said, and she seemed proud of it, and Natasha would never make fun of someone’s self-esteem. Potts glanced at Stark’s door. “Should I check on him?”

“He was alive when I left.” Natasha flashed her teeth in an approximate of a smile. “No promises about later.”

Pott’s laughter was like the tinkle of a fountain, and Natasha didn’t hate her and didn’t want to have to kill her. But she would.

“Who is Jarvis, Miss Potts?” Natasha swung her foot and projected tranquility.

“Oh, call me Pepper.” Pepper smiled. “Mr. Stark built Jarvis. He’s a computer that helps run the building.”

“Sounds a little more sophisticated than a computer,” Natasha commented, pretending to focus on her drink.

“Mr. Stark is a genius, after all.” Pepper’s attention turned to her computer, and Natasha marked time, knowing in her gut that she’d made the right decision coming here. Pepper didn’t seem to mind the company.

“Miss Potts, send Ms. Rushman back inside, please,” Stark’s voice came through the phone.

Natasha was up and through the door before the last word, shutting it behind her. She stalked to him and raised her eyebrows.

“Shield has him.” Stark disconnected a flash drive and tossed it to her. “He’s now the registered submissive to Phillip J. Coulson, Level 8 Dom.”

She caught it and tucked it away, not showing her relief that her boy was alive. “Not for long.” She’d kill this Coulson first.

Stark grinned. “Have at him, but take my word for it, Shield is hard to track down, and their agents are hard to kill. Not that I’ve tried, or anything.”

“I’ve heard of them.” Natasha would make a plan, and people would pay for hurting Clint. “I’d thank you, but you were coerced.”

“Really? You think I ever do things I don’t want to?” Stark leaned back in his chair. “We’ll meet again. I insist on it.”

Natasha flicked a small smile at him and thanked Pepper on her way out. “Thank you, Miss Potts, and you deserve a raise.”

Pepper laughed. “Every day of the year.”

********


	3. Hard Lessons

********

Clint woke with a start, not knowing where he was, or why his ass didn’t ache. He scrambled upright, hitting his back to the wall, blanket pooling around his hips. Wait, he was still dressed in sweats and a T-shirt. And there was a soft blanket, and a small pillow, and he scrubbed at his face, trying to breathe, but not loudly.

His new Dom wasn’t in sight, the bed was made, and Clint crawled to the bathroom as fast as he could, shutting the door and bracing it with his feet with his back to the tub. He counted to ten, scrubbed his face with his hands, and let out all the air in his body. He did it twice more like Natasha had taught him. He was okay. Not in a great situation, but it had been worse. At least his clothes were still on, and he hadn’t been beaten, yet. Tilting his head, he spotted the box with the hearing aids inside.

The box that hadn’t been there last night. He surged up and grabbed it. This was a very small bit of kindness to do for someone, like the blanket and the pillow, but it shouldn’t have happened, not here, not with this Dom.

Confused, he pissed, washed his hands, and then began to put his ears in. He was careful, but he was faster than yesterday. Clapping, he checked the volume. It was fine, and he easily heard the knock on the door.

“Breakfast is here.”

Clint didn’t understand why his Dom hadn’t thrown open the door and dragged him out. Maybe, just maybe, Coulson had given up on him. Coulson wouldn’t want to damage a sub he was going to sell after all. That thought helped Clint open the door and make his way out of the bedroom, noticing his blanket was folded on the bed with the little pillow on top.

A black duffle bag was on the sofa, and Coulson was sitting at a small table shoved in a corner. He got to his feet and walked straight at him, and against his will, Clint stopped to stand perfectly still. What he wanted to do was run for the hills, and he was afraid he was trembling, ever so slightly.

“The bag has clothes for you.” Coulson looked him up and down. “Boots, too. Were you trained to kneel when your Dom first greets you?”

It sounded like an honest question not sarcasm. “I was usually beaten in the morning as a greeting.” Clint went to his knees but he didn’t try to be graceful. It was the morning, for god’s sake. “Better?”

“It is traditional.” Coulson cupped his hand on Clint’s chin, which was a thing that Clint had only seen in movies. “Good morning, Clint.”

“Hey,” Clint muttered, not sure what exactly to say. He wanted to duck his face away from the touch, but he held himself still. “Food?”

“I like a sub who keeps his priorities straight.” Coulson straightened the cheap collar and stepped back. “At the table. Use the chair.”

Glad for direction, Clint went right there, peeled the plastic off the tray and started eating. “I’m not really a sub, you know?” He talked with his mouth full because he was really hungry. The last two days had been good eating, for sure. “Never been tested, but I bet I’m a one or two, so maybe, I’m a low-level Dom.”

Coulson put his napkin in his lap, showing off real manners. “Really.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t make a difference. No matter your score, you’re mine.”

“Really.” Clint echoed Coulson’s dry tone perfectly. “Why would you want a Dom?”

“I’m not picky.” Coulson sounded perfectly serious. “Anyway, you submitted to me. I don’t care about numbers.”

Clint sighed, giving up on that tactic. It obviously wasn’t going to work. “I thought you were selling me?”

Coulson flashed him a tight grin. “You’ll be a full agent of Shield someday. Right now, you’re mine. Welcome to Shield.”

“Shit.” Clint didn’t know what Shield did, but he didn’t want any part of it. Natasha had taught him to only take jobs he could live with, and he wasn’t back sliding now. “Subs make terrible employees, you know?”

“So… you are a sub?” Coulson was a dick. He had a smirk a mile wide, and Clint wanted to kick him under the table or throw food at him. Coulson ate his fruit and muffin with quick, decisive bites. “Don’t dawdle. We have a lot ahead of us today.”

“I’m going to need pie,” Clint mumbled around a mouthful of food. He didn’t imagine Coulson’s jaw tense up. Satisfied that he’d poked at him, Clint finished his food in record time. “Now what?” He wiped his mouth with his arm to watch the tiny flinch around Coulson’s eyes.

“Clothes.”

Clint should’ve changed right there in front of his Dom, but he took the bag to the bathroom and shut the door, sending a very clear message that might earn him a beating. He was surprised that everything fit and it was all good quality. His collar might be crap, but his Dom was dressing him in top-of-the-line military gear. The boots made him swoon a little, and he ran a quick hand through his hair so he looked good enough to wear them.

Coulson looked him up and down, no expression on his face. “Anything else you need?”

“A knife for my boot, a Sig Sauer on my hip, and my bow on my back.” Clint met his eyes calmly. “Or I can steal stuff as I go along.”

“I’ll frisk you every hour or so.” Coulson licked his lower lip. “No hardship there.”

Clint narrowed his eyes, but Coulson went to the door, opened it, and waited for him. And Clint made him wait an entire minute before giving in and going out. The hand on his shoulder made him roll his eyes. He went, and he didn’t drag his feet, thinking any place far away from the bed was probably a good idea.

Everyone smirked when they saw him, and two guys licked their lips, which made Clint want to punch them, but it was the big, dark-haired guy who started all the trouble. He came barreling right towards them, yelling his head off.

“You’re selling my service?” The guy’s face was turning purple. “But you’re keeping this trash?”

It was Clint’s job to step to the side, kneel, and wait to see which Dom would claim him. Clint wasn’t in the mood for that bullshit, but a fight sounded great. He saw the punch coming, Coulson tried to pull him back, and Clint went at him full-on crazy. Natasha had taught him to fight fast, hard, and go for all the soft bits. It didn’t make any difference that the guy was taller and heavier.

Clint tore him to pieces, and it seemed like hours before Coulson yanked him off with a slap to the face. “Stop!”

People swarmed, medics arrived, and even the guy in black leather showed up. Coulson pushed Clint in a corner and shoved him to his knees. Clint’s breath came fast and hard, and he fought him.

“Hawkeye! Down!”

Coulson shoved his groin at Clint’s face and held him there by his head. Clint wanted to bite the shit out of him, but he wouldn’t. He shuddered and got control back, starting to feel where he’d taken a blow or two. Checking to make sure he hadn’t lost a hearing aid, he let his body go limp. Coulson slowly backed off him and crouched down.

“Okay?” Coulson brought his hand up, but didn’t deliver the slap Clint expected. Instead, he wiped some blood from Clint’s cheek. “Submissive?”

“My name is Clint Barton.” Clint ground out the words barely above a whisper, but he kept his eyes down.

“Well, we were gonna sell Ward, but now, we should probably just send him to disciplinary.” The guy in leather sighed loudly. “Word of this will be all over in about five minutes.”

“Ward attacked him, or me, either way, he threw the first punch.” Coulson stood, but Clint stayed down. “Whoever trained Hawkeye, taught him well.”

Clint buried his face in his hands. Natasha was gonna kill him, for real. She’d tried to teach him to play the stupid submissive until he could escape. Instead, he’d showed off his skills and been a little bitchy. The dick that had been shoved in his face earlier told the tale. Coulson was turned on by it. Clint crouched over his knees and pulled his shirt up over his back to cover his head. There was no way they wouldn’t beat him, and she would say he deserved it.

“Take him to your office and get him cleaned up.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll give him the lashes for fighting there, not on the post.” Coulson hadn’t touched him yet, so Clint stayed down.

“Cheese, he doesn’t know the rules. Teach him, instead of beating him.”

There was a long silence, and Clint wondered if they were having a dominant stare down, but he wasn’t going to look.

********

Coulson ceded dominance to Fury easily, but he didn’t quite agree. “Submissives don’t fight. He knows that.”

“No lashes.” Fury cleared the hallway of all the gawkers with a sharp look. “We clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Coulson dipped his head. “Thank you, Director Fury.”

“Suck up.” Fury left them there, and only after the last person had found somewhere else to be did Coulson tugged the shirt down and get Barton on his feet. Barton didn’t sway, and his eyes weren’t glassy. He wasn’t in subspace. Coulson tried to will his erection away, because there was nothing sexy about a sub who wouldn’t listen and fought like a tiger. His cock strongly disagreed.

“Ready?” Coulson kept his tone very even.

Barton nodded, and they went to his office without further interruption. Coulson got out the first aid kit and cleaned him up on the little sofa, taking care to be gentle. Barton looked as if he might run out the door, again. He finally cleared his throat. “Director Fury is the top dominant?”

Tossing out a wet wipe, Coulson nodded. “He certainly is. His commands are law.” He wasn’t exaggerating. “Ward will be severely punished for attacking us.”

“I guess he didn’t want to be sold.” Barton looked confused by that. “If you sell me, I promise not to complain.”

Coulson favored him an eyeroll. “I get the feeling you don’t like me.” He didn’t care one bit. Liking had nothing to do with what his dick wanted. “Do you need to use the restroom?”

“No.” Barton shook his head. Coulson wasn’t going to make him wait for his punishment, pointing at the corner and putting him on his knees with his head against the wall and his arms behind his back. Touching him, moving his body, was a pleasure, and Barton didn’t protest. It was a minor punishment, at best, and Barton didn’t say a word of complaint. A stress position like that got uncomfortable quickly, and he kept a close eye on Barton as he settled into his paperwork.

The snore was damn annoying. This obviously was no punishment at all, and he’d think of something else. With a sigh, he went to him, got him up, ignored the yawn, and put him on the sofa, where Barton immediately went back to sleep. Either the sub was sleep deprived, or he was one of those high energy people who could sleep anywhere.

Letting him sleep another hour was no problem, but they would be on time to his first class. First, they teach him about Shield, and then they’d tackle the problem of his illiteracy. There was no rush, and if they needed his skills, Coulson would go in the field with him. Fury would be very angry if Hawkeye managed to escape, and Coulson would have to be vigilant.

********

Clint woke up and stretched, dropping to the floor and taking another long stretch. He checked his aids, folded the blanket, and put it on the sofa. Only then did he get to his feet and stretch his back. It popped, and he sat in the chair in front of Coulson’s desk.

“You done?”

Shrugging, Clint pulled the paperclips over to play with, making them into tiny weapons. Coulson didn’t comment, but he did start putting papers away and shutting down computers. When he pulled the paperclips to his side of the desk, he said, “Your class starts in ten minutes. Let’s be early.”

A little surprised, Clint had expected a beating, he decided not to say anything at all about it. “I have to piss.”

Nodding, Coulson got them moving, and Clint wiped his wet hands on his pants so he could see Coulson scrunch his eyes again. They went down three floors and down a long hallway, and Clint almost groaned at the classroom. Desks filled with eager young agents, all dominants from the look of things, made him want to grind his teeth. Coulson put him in a chair.

“Learn.” Coulson pointed at Clint’s guts. “Punishment can wait until after lunch.”

Clint narrowed his eyes at him. The teacher came in through a side door, and Coulson eased away, gone in a flash. Clint leaned over, plucked a knife from the boot of the student next to him, and tucked it in his own boot. The dominant, flirting with the girl on the other side, never even noticed. With any luck, he’d score a gun or two before class was over.

Everyone took notes, and a few had computers to tap away on, and Clint put his chin in his hands, listening. The teacher had an interesting voice, and a flair for making information interesting. The pictures on the whiteboard were also good. Clint didn’t know if any of this was true, but Captain America did have great arms, and his friend Bucky was a great shot. Clint assumed that he was better, but those rifles back then had been very inaccurate, so he’d give Bucky credit.

He wasn’t even tempted to take out his aids. Right after Bucky fell from the train, the teacher stopped, promising more tomorrow, and Clint got to his feet. Three dominants instantly circled him.

“Coulson owns you?”

“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“He usually goes for women.”

“I have the crappy collar to prove it.” Clint flicked it. “I gotta go.” He trailed the teacher out the side door, hoping to get away, and refused to look guilty when Coulson was leaning against the wall, face stony. “Hey, Boss.”

“Go give the knife back, and anything else you stole.” Coulson glared, clearly unhappy.

Clint raised his eyebrows. He turned on his heel, went back into the classroom, and exited that door. Then, he ran.

********

Coulson waited four minutes before he realized his mistake. He scrubbed his face and considered going to pick up a new strap before even trying to find him. His phone rang, and he wanted to smash it.

“Yes?”

“That little shit is going to either break you or make you a better dominant.” Fury chuckled. “Right now, the money is leaning his way.”

“Damn it.” Coulson was famous for never losing his temper, but today was a new day. “Did you lock down the quinjets?”

“Why would I do that? I’m betting on him.” Fury clicked off, and Coulson squeezed his phone, needing to get the snarl off his face before he chased after his submissive. Oh, he was sorry, Clint Barton, who deserved a good beating.

After locking down the quinjets, the armory, and the range, Coulson tried the cafeteria. This really was his fault. If he’d had one iota of sense he’d have put a tracker in Barton while they were in the infirmary. Barton wasn’t eating pie, and Coulson heard a snicker or two, so the chase was on to salvage his pride.

********

Clint figured this was his one chance to escape. If he got caught, he’d take his beating and quit trying, for a while at least. He hurried into the cafeteria, filled his pockets, and went out the side door, barely slowing down. No one tried to stop him.

The quinjet hanger was the obvious destination, but Clint didn’t underestimate Coulson. Instead, Clint went up, trying to find the upper deck. His inner clock told him he was running out of time, and that was when he spotted the larger than normal vent down by the floor. He paused, decided he had nothing to lose, and checked for video cameras. Nothing in this hallway, but one pointed at the stairwell he’d intended to use. He used the apple he’d swiped to knock the camera down, so they’d think he’d gone up the stairs, before back-tracking to the vent. Carefully, he took it off, crawled inside, and then put it back on, using a few paperclips to make sure it wouldn’t fall out. If he were lucky, no one would even think to look. He moved quite a distance inside the vent and took a moment to have a snack and consider his next move.

“Clint Barton, do not attempt to access the top deck. We are at forty thousand feet, and you will be killed.”

Even in the vent, Clint heard him perfectly over the intercom. Clint stopped chewing for a moment and then finished his energy bar. He had no damn idea how they could be at forty thousand feet, but Coulson hadn’t lied yet, and Clint had felt the thrum-thrum of engines through his feet when they were at the range. A parachute might save him, but he might be thrown into the engines. His only hope was stealing a quinjet, and that was ridiculous. He could barely drive a car.

Crawling again, he made his way for what seemed like miles, looking through vents from time to time to try and get his bearings. When he saw the hospital, he stopped and did nothing but sit by the vent. They’d been kind to him. If he were honest, Coulson had been… not awful. That stress position this morning had been a joke, and even if he had whipped Clint, Clint had earned it. He knew better than to fight with Doms, even if it was his favorite thing.

Even the class had been, not fun, but interesting, and no one had laughed at him for being stupid. They hadn’t even asked him to kill anyone yet, and he probably owned them for not just shooting him out of hand at the AIM base. Munching a tiny bag of carrots, Clint ached for Natasha. She’d tell him what to do, damn it.

She was probably looking for him, and heaven help anyone who got in her way. She loved him like a stray puppy, and he didn’t understand it. He just enjoyed it. She’d expect him to escape. Or maybe she’d want him to lay low and wait for her.

He tucked the empty plastic bag in his pocket and remembered the small kindness of a blanket, and the larger kindness of not being raped. “God damn it,” he whispered. He kicked out the vent, apologized to a nurse, and headed for Coulson’s office.

No one said anything to him, and when he got there, he put his thumb on the scanner to open it, not surprised at all when it popped open. Coulson was a thorough kind of Dom. The office was empty, and Clint shut the door. He stripped off the light jacket and the shirt, folding them into a pile on the sofa and put all the weapons he’d picked up during his journey on top. That done, he took several long stretches, and then dropped into a plank – making sure it was perfect.

After two minutes, he was sweating. The first drop of sweat to roll down his nose hit the floor at the exact instant that Coulson pushed open the door. Clint didn’t move, not even an inch. Coulson put his hands on his hips, and he was breathing hard like he’d run. Clint wouldn’t be surprised if Coulson kicked him, or took a strap to his back.

“Who’s gun is that?” Coulson asked in a mild voice.

“Not sure. He was in the cafeteria.” Clint was sure he was over five minutes from the way he was shaking. He started counting his breaths and tried for that head space where nothing hurt.

“Security, call off the lockdowns,” Coulson said, and Clint didn’t move his head to look at him. Clint did hear the chirp of an incoming call, and Coulson practically growled into the phone, “Yes, Jasper, I know I looked like a fool.”

Clint couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but those words let him know that he was in for a world of hurt today. He should’ve swiped some pie.

********

Coulson caressed his belt buckle as he did a quick inventory of the weapons his submissive had stolen today, all before lunch. Whoever had lost their gun should be ashamed. Barton’s breath evened out, and his muscles trembled but he stayed in the plank. His arms were sculpted muscle, and Coulson wanted to touch, but he wouldn’t, not in the middle of a punishment.

It irked him that he hadn’t chosen this, but he knew an apology when he saw one. The door nudged open, and Coulson met Fury’s eyes. Fury glanced at the pile of weapons and sighed.

“Get him some of his own weapons, so he’ll quit stealing.” Fury huffed in irritation. “Maybe he figured something out today.”

“And maybe he just wanted pie,” Coulson grumbled, but he’d use his words instead of just beating him. “Sir, are you sure about your gut?”

“Now more than ever. Did you see him throw that apple? Could’ve killed a man.” Fury left the door open when he left, and Coulson didn’t shut it. He called someone from security to come get the weapons and use the surveillance video to find their owners, and then he stood and waited for Barton to collapse to the floor. Several people gawked as they walked by, and word would spread that Barton was being punished. Coulson would take credit, even if it hadn’t been his idea. He didn’t know how long Barton had been in that plank, but from the trembling, it wouldn’t be much longer.

“One.” Barton said, shoving himself up to his hands and doing a pushup with a clap in the middle. Coulson was sure his eyes bulged a little as Barton touched his nose to the carpet before doing another, and another, not losing the count.

A security Dom collected the weapons and nodded in satisfaction at the sweaty wreck of a submissive, who was still doing pushups. At fifty, he stopped, and spread his legs to switch to one-arm pushups. Coulson felt like wiping his brow. He was sweating watching him.

“I get the feeling this is your normal workout.” Coulson didn’t need an answer. “At least everyone thinks I’m punishing you.”

Barton, for one second, shot him a grin, and then switched arms. Coulson went to sit at his desk and get a little work done. In his mind, he still owned Barton a punishment, but it could wait until they were in private. “Barton, did you learn anything today?”

There was a long pause, and Barton stopped doing pushups to begin crunches with his legs elevated. They were brutal. “Captain America was an all-right guy, and Bucky was probably almost as good as me with a rifle.”

Coulson had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. “What else?”

“You deserve a better sub than me.” Barton said the words softly. “So, I guess I earned this crappy collar. I’ll wear it with pride.”

Now, Coulson was somewhat reassured that he was through chasing his submissive through the bowels of the helicarrier. “Thank you, Clint.” And he meant it. He opened an email and set up an appointment for Barton’s tracker to be implanted, better safe than sorry.

********  



	4. Coming to Terms

********

The morning came too early, and Clint pulled his blanket over his head from his corner. He hadn’t known if Coulson expected him on the bed. Clint had taken his blanket and pillow to the corner and refused to look at him, just in case he was talking. Coulson hadn’t grabbed him, so Clint fell asleep, and unfortunately, now he had to get up, if the light was any indication.

It was impossible to fall back asleep, worrying that Coulson might kick him or something, so Clint stretched until every bone in his body popped. When he peeked out from under the blanket, the room was empty. This time, he walked to take a shower, not panicking at all. He took a deep breath, washing the sweat away, and told himself three times that he’d made his decision. He’d wait for Natasha. He’d trust Natasha.

This was all bearable, and some small part of him trusted Coulson not to… do something awful. Clint carefully dried his ears before putting in his aids, and he dressed quickly before going out to the main room. Coulson’s fork stopped in mid-air, but his face showed no expression at all. Clint knew his duty now, and he went to him without dragging his feet and knelt by his leg.

“Good morning, Clint.” Coulson slid his finger the length of Clint’s jaw. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did. Thank you.” Clint was relieved Coulson hadn’t called him ‘submissive’ this morning. That always started the day off wrong. Asking to join him at the table was a trap Clint didn’t want to fall into, so he stayed very still. When the fork came his way, laden with fruit, he ate and he didn’t even grumble under his breath.

“I feel as if I still owe you a punishment,” Coulson said in a very calm voice. “But perhaps this is punishment enough.” He fed him another bite and gave him a sip of coffee. “You are clearly uncomfortable at my feet.”

Saying anything about that might earn him a fist to the face so Clint swallowed his coffee. “Will we find out today what happens after Bucky falls from the train?” An innocent question far from the subject of beatings.

“Yes, you will.” Coulson’s eyes crinkled at him, which might have been an actual smile. Clint wasn’t sure, but he almost smiled back at him. Luckily, food on a fork interrupted that idea. Coulson kept Clint down until all the food was gone. “Let’s head to the armory to get you some weapons, and then class.”

That actually sounded good, and Clint bounded up. “I promise not to steal any more knives.”

“Not even if you need one?” Coulson wiped his mouth, giving him a small side-eye.

“Good point.” Clint ignored cleaning up the table because he felt as if he were giving up far too much ground this morning. He actually unlocked the door and went out in the hall. “Hey, can you walk in front today? Just in case someone else is pissed at you?”

Coulson made a funny noise, not laughter but something. “I could leash you instead.”

“As long as you’re not mad when the excellent collar you put on me snaps in half.” Clint gave him a cheesy grin as he shut the door. Coulson didn’t have a leash in his hand, and Clint hoped his relief didn’t show on his face. He took the hand to his shoulder without even an eye roll. Mainly because they were going to the armory, and for once, Clint didn’t stroll along.

Coulson ran the show once they were there, but Clint found he didn’t mind. He felt so much better when he had a decent handgun in a holster on his hip and two good knives tucked away.

“If you lose your weapons, you will be disciplined,” Coulson said. “When you have an assignment, you’ll be issued weapons specifically for that. Those will be returned after the mission.”

“A mission sounds good. Let’s do that.” Clint checked the fit on the holster again and made sure he could get a smooth pull. “Wait, that guy whose gun I stole?”

“He received the customary lashes this morning.” Coulson motioned for him to come to the desk, tapping a piece of paper. “Sign this. It says you have the appropriate weapons for a Level 1 agent.”

Clint looked at the paper and then at the pen Coulson was holding out. A little scared, Clint took it in his hand. The weapons master was right there, and Coulson tapped it again. “Today, Clint.”

Words locked up in his throat, and he slowly made a big C, followed by what he hoped were the right letters. He’d practiced this when he was younger. Picking up the pen, he wondered if he should try his last name. He glanced at Coulson, and for the first time, saw a real emotion – pity. Clint sucked air in over his teeth and scribbled something that had a B in it. Finished, embarrassed, he threw the pen hard enough to lodge it in the wall.

“Not sure that was necessary,” Coulson said, handing the papers over to the weapons master. “Ready for class?”

“Sure.” Clint couldn’t wait to be laughed at by everyone. He couldn’t fake it now. “I can find my own way.”

“Don’t take away the small pleasures in this relationship.” Coulson’s hand found its usual place on Clint’s shoulder, and Clint controlled his urge to shove it away and stick his knife in Coulson’s guts. Natasha would get here. She’d want that privilege.

********

If Coulson’s dick got any harder, it was going to burst his zipper. Feeding Clint had given him a raging hard-on, and it showed no sign of lagging. There were no giggles, makeup, perfume, or exaggerated movements with Clint. He was raw, angry about half the time, and he was submitting anyway.

Coulson wanted to shove him against a wall and rut, knowing Clint would fight him all the way, and it would be so good. Leashing him would be a real test of their compatibility, and neither of them were ready for that yet, but Coulson wanted that, badly.

Clint had a handgun on his hip, and Coulson found himself breathing through his mouth, struggling to stay on an even keel. Having him walk in front meant that Coulson could watch Clint’s perfect ass, and Clint definitely strutted, now that he was angry.

It’d been a mistake to ask him to sign something, but it hadn’t been possible to back down in front of other people. He’d done a fair job on his first name, but the last had been illegible. The B hadn’t even been at the start. Very few submissives received a full education in the U.S. Clint had nothing to be ashamed of, but he obviously was.

“Do you want to learn to read and write?” Coulson was more curious than anything.

“I’m retarded.” Clint snapped out both words. “Even by submissive standards, I’m grade A stupid.”

The tone didn’t encourage Coulson to continue questioning him. However, it wasn’t true. Clint wasn’t educated, but his intelligence couldn’t be doubted. Coulson guided him down the last hallway before the classroom door. “I don’t believe that. You shouldn’t either.” He opened the door and escorted Clint to his desk.

Clint sat down, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked stubborn as a mule. “Thank you, dominant.”

Ouch. Now that was a shot across his bow, and Coulson mentally congratulated Clint on finding the perfect insult. “Come to my office after class. We’ll have lunch.” He didn’t require an answer, and he ignored the stares and slightly open mouths of Clint’s classmates. The rumor mill was on fire with gossip about the two of them, and Coulson had the feeling that Jasper was running the book on who would come out on top.

The instructor stepped in the far door, and Coulson gave him a quick nod.

“Agent Coulson, you should come in and show the class some of your artifacts from the early days of Shield. You have the best collection!”

“Send me an email. I’ll consider it.” And Coulson made it out the door. Truth was, he could teach that class, but God forbid he ever had to do it. He swung by the closest coffee station, got a large, and made it to his desk without anyone asking annoying questions. With a small sigh of relief, he opened his laptop, turned on his tablet, and started his day. He’d forgotten how time-consuming having a sub was, but he remembered how much he’d grown to resent it. He supposed Clint would cheer when Coulson turned him loose, and the idea made him grumble under his breath.

Shoving his cock down, Coulson forced himself to focus on work.

********

The teacher called it quits right after Captain America’s plane went down in the ocean, and Clint wanted to grind his teeth in frustration. That couldn’t be the end of the story.

“Agent Barton, please stay after class,” the teacher said.

Clint wanted to sink through the floor. That’s how it always started. Hell, he didn’t have a single memory from school that didn’t end up with him in trouble. No one stayed to talk to him today. The room cleared like a bomb had gone off, and Clint stayed in his desk.

Moving to stand close, the teacher tried an awkward smile. “You seem to really be enjoying this class, Agent.”

A bare nod was enough, and Clint could feel his shoulders hunching.

“I’m concerned that you’re not taking notes. Some students have incredible oral learning skills, but I wanted to check in with you.”

“I’m really bad at reading and writing,” Clint whispered, not able to see another person feel sorry for him today.

The teacher made a funny noise. “All my lessons are on my website. You can listen to them again. I’ll give you an oral test. It’s not a problem.” He rapped lightly on Clint’s desk to draw his eyes up. “Agent, if you want to learn, do it. Don’t sit around and be angry about it. We have resources and people willing to help. Most Shield employees are taking classes of one kind or another. The one who aren’t taking them are teaching them. Don’t let Agent Coulson fool you, he teaches classes regularly.”

Clint knew his eyes were wide. “You’re submissive.”

“And proud of it. When Shield hired me at age seventeen, I had never had a math course. I could read and write, but couldn’t add two numbers to save my life.” He laughed. “Thank goodness they wanted me for my charm.”

Finding a smile for him almost hurt, and Clint eased to his feet. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Let me know how I can help.” The teacher gave him a silly wave and left out that side door. Clint scrubbed his hand through his hair and let out a sigh of relief. For once, he wasn’t in trouble. Finding out where the website was would be the next step. Maybe, just maybe, Coulson would help him.

Remembering lunch, Clint headed for Coulson’s office, getting turned around once and having to back track. When he got there, he used his thumb to gain entrance, not willing to knock. Coulson’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing, but he nodded. Clint reminded himself that Coulson was dangerous, again.

“You’re late, Clint.”

Clint wondered if it hurt Coulson to use Clint’s name, instead of the submissive crap. “I was kept after and then I got lost. All the damn hallways look alike.”

Coulson leaned back in his chair. “There’s a numbering system on the corners. I’ll show you after lunch. Why were you kept after? Throwing spitballs?”

“Like you’d let me have paper.” Clint snorted. “The teacher, whatever his name is--.”

“Agent Hurley.”

“Yeah, him. He was checking in with me because he could tell, from his position at the front of the class, that I’m dumb as a box of rocks.” Clint didn’t imagine Coulson’s frown. “What does he do at Shield, besides teach morons like me?”

“He can speak fourteen languages.” Coulson shut his laptop. “Let’s get lunch before I grow angry at your insults.”

Shrugging, Clint didn’t watch him tidy up his desk. “Not insults if they’re true,” he muttered, but he remembered Natasha hitting him on the back of the head several times when he’d said mean things about himself. She didn’t like it either. “Fourteen is a lot,” he said. “I only speak three, if you count sign language, which some people don’t.”

Coulson was suddenly right in Clint’s space. “It counts. We also count your lip-reading skills.”

“No idea what you mean.” Clint looked into Coulson’s eyes, just to make sure they were blue. His eyes were expressive, even if the rest of his face showed nothing. Coulson lifted his chin slightly, and Clint wasn’t thrilled that it made his submissive side flare. He flowed to his knees, leaving him face-to-cock, and Coulson had a big one.

A strong hand slipped through his hair, and Clint stayed down, instead of running out the door. Coulson seemed to take a deep breath. “What else did he say?”

Clint kept control, refusing to nuzzle into him. So, it’d been a while since he’d had sex, no big deal. The scent of Coulson teased at him, and Clint hated that he could imagine doing this often.

“Clint?”

“I wasn’t really listening to him,” Clint said, sucking his lower lip in and biting down so he didn’t do something stupid with his mouth. He didn’t imagine the sharp intake of breath above him, and he surged to his feet, turning his back. “You want it. Take it, but I’m not giving it.”

There was no movement behind him, and then teeth scrapped at his ear. “You will.”

********


	5. Stark

****

It wasn’t that he felt guilty, because Starks don’t do guilt, not ever. That said, several times to Pepper, he did feel… somewhat responsible. If he’d have known that Hawkeye belonged to a very dangerous redhead, well, he might’ve made another decision. Not that subs couldn’t be very effective in their chosen professions, but... Tony had never known a submissive assassin.

And Tony had known more than a few assassins. Submissives would kill you with poison, but a rifle from a distance? No. He’d read the report off the Shield server about the base, and Hawkeye had killed methodically, working his way through the main building until he’d killed the leader with a shot to the head. The Shield report had indicated that they suspected Hawkeye had been helped by a dominant who fled, but Tony knew the truth. He’d hired one man to do the job.

One submissive, who had been ensnared by Shield after doing Tony’s dirty work. Tony paced back and forth, patting Dummy on the claw occasionally. “Jarvis, what’s my current opinion on Shield?”

“Mostly disdain, mixed with a touch of anger because of your father’s involvement.” Jarvis paused. “Perhaps you have had some personal growth?”

“Sarcasm, Jarvis, isn’t in your programming.” Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m going to hate myself if I don’t do something.”

Jarvis was wisely silent. Tony huffed. “I could also get drunk, and when I wake up, she might’ve brought Shield to its knees.”

“Miss Rushman did seem quite competent. If I may,” Jarvis said, “Level 8 Doms aren’t known for their patience and kindness.”

“Damn it, Jarvis.” Tony stopped pacing and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m a 10! I’m nice!” He wished he’d programmed Jarvis to lie to him. “Okay, not a 10, but it’s very possible that Hawkeye’s fine.”

“It’s likely that Shield intends to incarcerate Hawkeye.” Jarvis wasn’t helping Tony feel better. “They are extremely choosy in their hiring practices.”

“Coulson wouldn’t have claimed him if that was the case.” Tony sighed. “Unless they’re just fucking with him. Literally.” He sighed louder. “Fine! Prep the suit. No more hiring assassins to take out the smaller bases. I’ll do it all myself. Damn it.”

"The helicarrier is currently in the ocean off the coast of Peru," Jarvis said. Tony knew when he was beat.

Starks don’t bother regretting their decisions. Tony had learned that early in life, and he didn’t break any sound barriers getting to the helicarrier. It was about 7 pm where they were, and Tony set down on the tarmac with care not to leave holes in it. It only took minutes before he was surrounded by men with guns. One of them had a missile launcher, which was ridiculous. Tony waited, seeing him coming and ignoring the heavy breathing of the storm troopers.

“What do you want, Stark?” Nick Fury never changed. There were rumors he was a clone, but Tony figured Fury had gotten hold of some secret soldier juice.

“My submissive, Hawkeye.” Tony didn’t lift his faceplate. “He’s here. He’s mine. Get him.”

“I have no idea who you mean. Everyone on this boat works for Shield.” Fury looked faintly amused.

Tony fired up one palm repulsor. “I can carve my way through this boat until I find Hawkeye, or you can deliver him. Your choice.”

“How many bullets can that armor withstand?” Fury smirked. “We should run a field test.”

“I’d hoped we could do this reasonable way, but I see you’d rather contend with Pepper Potts and her herd of bored lawyers.” Tony saw the tiny flinch around Fury’s eye. That was progress. “I was about ready to offer him a collar. Did you beat him? Have him gang raped? Or just sell him to a Dom?”

“Hawkeye works for Shield.” But Fury didn’t sound sure. “He has valuable skills.”

“And you didn’t answer any of my questions.” Tony clomped over to stand closer, again dismissing the automatic rifles. He flipped open his faceplate “My submissive,” he spat. “Now.”

“Funny, he never mentioned you.” Fury folded his arms over his chest. “I heard you tattoo your submissives, like they’re some sort of stock animal.” He smirked. “I also heard you’re a sub. That one came straight from your father.”

Anger was never the way forward in these types of negotiations. He clacked his faceplate down and blasted straight up while turning. With a casual shot, he blew the last quinjet on the tarmac to pieces. Bullets flew, pinging off his armor, and he tracked Fury, who turned and calmly walked towards a hatchway.

“Jarvis, open the comm link in Fury’s ear.” There was a tiny click, and Tony snarled, “I’m blowing up the ones inside now.”

There was a long pause. “You kill my people, and I’ll kill yours.” Fury clearly wasn’t bluffing. “I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

This really wasn’t going how Tony had imagined. He hovered over the flight deck, swatting aside the occasional missile. His comm was still open to Fury’s. “Fine. I tried to do this the nice way.”

“Wait, Stark.” Fury hesitated. “For once in your damn life, listen. The kid is doing okay. You know as well as I do that freelance assassins don’t last long, and the sub has talent. Real talent.”

Tony put his missiles away. “It was my job. I didn’t know he was a sub.”

“Good lord, do I hear a sense of responsibility?” Fury was such an asshole. “How about this? Before he signs a contract with Shield, I’ll let you talk to him.”

“How about no? I want to talk to him right damn now.” Tony wasn’t backing down on that. “Privately.”

There was a long silence, and Tony considered blowing up another quinjet. He just hated the name, if nothing else.

“I’ll bring him to the hanger. Try to remove him, and you’ll regret it.” Fury disconnected.

It was a sad day in Tony’s life that he believed him. He spun around, dipped under, and went into the hanger ready for war. People were clearing out, practically running for the exits, and he set down carefully between two jets. He wasn’t good at waiting, but he entertained himself by counting jets and considering how best to blow them all up with a minimal number of shots.

A door slammed back, and it was Fury, followed by Hawkeye. The agent with his hand on Hawkeye’s shoulder must’ve been Agent Coulson. Tony let his faceplate slide up. The temptation to grab him and run was there.

“Sir, there are several agents of Shield outside Miss Potts’ office. They claim they have an appointment.”

“God damn you, Fury.”

Fury smirked. Coulson tightened his grip on Hawkeye’s shoulder, and then abruptly released him.

Tony saw the confusion on Hawkeye’s face, but Fury didn’t complain as they moved slightly away. “Red heads are great, huh? My favorite kind of chick.”

Hawkeye narrowed his eyes. “There is surveillance everywhere,” he hissed.

“I’m jamming it.” Tony made sure he was blocking their lips, just in case. “She nearly shot me.”

“She’s great that way.” Hawkeye crossed his arms. “I’m probably getting a beating for this.”

Ignoring that, Tony knew he was about out of time from the look on Fury’s face. “She’s coming for you. Don’t give them what they want.”

With a shrug, Hawkeye flicked his collar. “Hasn’t happened yet.”

Tony stared at that collar for one long second; his eidetic memory throwing images at him. His eyes widened, and he practically pushed Hawkeye aside to get to Coulson. “You gave him that? That collar?”

Coulson’s eyes blew wide. “Yes.”

“You had no right!” Tony was spending most of this day being angry. “It belongs in a museum, or with Aunt Peggy!”

The silence from Coulson made Tony want to blast him. Turning slightly, Tony rounded on Fury again. “My father made a lot of mistakes, but none bigger than helping found Shield!”

“Your opinion isn’t worth much around here.” Fury got right in Tony’s face, one eye shining.

“Wait, you’re telling me this is the collar that Captain America offered Peggy Carter?” Hawkeye’s voice rang loud and clear through the hanger bay. “Holy shit! Get it off! Get it off!”

Before Hawkeye could panic further, Coulson was there, removing it and speaking to him in low, soothing tones. Tony snarled, “My lawyers will be in touch.”

Fury said absolutely nothing, and Tony stalked back to Hawkeye. “You want to leave, kid, just say the word.” He’d protect Pepper, somehow.

Hawkeye shook his head. “Tell her I love her.”

“Will do.” Tony blasted off, blew up another quinjet topside just to get the shakes out, and headed for home. “Fuckers.”

“You showed considerable restraint, sir.”

“Damn right I did.”

********


	6. Stand-Off

****

“You might’ve mentioned you were his sub,” Coulson said, no emotion in his voice. “I wouldn’t have collared you.”

Clint felt like his feet wouldn’t move, and all he could do was stare after Iron Man. An explosion outside the bay made him flinch, and Coulson rolled his eyes.

“He just had to blow something else up,” Fury grumbled. “Stark has never collared anyone.” He snorted. “The man’s allergic to commitment.”

“I wonder if he paid me,” Clint muttered, edging slightly away from Coulson. The collar dangled in his hand, and Clint wanted no part of it. “You should clean that. I probably got it dirty.” He scrubbed his hand through his hand, unable to believe he’d been insulting Captain America’s collar. “Did you put it around my neck to make fun of me?”

Coulson actually flinched. “No! I had no idea!” He lifted it in the air, and Clint got behind Fury, just in case.

Fury glared at both of them. “You didn’t even know who Captain America was until this week, so settle down. Coulson, add it to your collection, but I don’t want to see it on anyone’s neck.”

“Yes, sir,” Coulson said, eyes dropping.

Clint had never seen Coulson give submission to anyone. It was impressive. Some Doms would rather die than do it.

Turning quickly, Fury brought the full power of his dominance on to Clint. Clint met Fury’s eyes for one second and then folded to his knees because he wasn’t a goddamn idiot. Fury snorted. “I imagine that hurt. You’re a free submissive in this organization, Clint Barton. Agent Coulson will draw up the paperwork for you to sign to be a full agent with all the rights and responsibilities. If you choose not to join Shield, I’ll put you on a quinjet myself.”

Coulson made a soft noise that Clint couldn’t decipher. Clint felt like he was holding his breath. “How long do I have to decide?”

“Ballsy, ain’t he?” Fury laughed. “Coulson, stop looking like someone kicked your puppy.”

“Yes, sir,” Coulson said.

Clint got to his feet, eyes going to Coulson, just to see, but he had on his stone face. Fury looked from one to the other. “I have work to do, and if Stark thinks I won’t bill him for those quinjets, he’s fooling himself!” He strode away, leaving them in the hanger bay.

Coulson put the collar in his pocket. “I meant no disrespect.”

It was hard to find anything to say. Clint swallowed hard. “I know you collared me out of indifference.”

Now Coulson’s blue eyes snapped to him. “I’ll get the paperwork ready.”

“I’m going for pie and coffee.” Clint needled at him. “I may be available later.” It was easy to see Coulson’s teeth grinding. “Bye.” He didn’t look back, but he was sure Coulson was following him. People started returning to their jobs, and Clint dodged a hand or two, making his way into the ship’s interior. A collar provided protection from groping Doms, nothing else did. Subs dreamed of a world where Doms were respectful. Clint had always figured Doms were too stupid to learn manners.

Coulson had made him re-think that opinion.

“Hey, Hawkeye! Where’s Coulson?”

“No idea.” Clint took his pies and coffee to a back table. “His office? Like usual?”

The Dom was looking him up and down. “I’m Jasper. Coulson’s best friend. Nice to finally meet you.”

Clint just looked at him. “Right.” He picked up his fork. Being polite to Doms was the way subs got along in the world. Clint didn’t see any reason to follow rules that had never gotten him anything, not any longer. “I can’t eat if you’re staring at me. Go away.”

Jasper’s eyebrows went up. He glanced around and then left, brow furrowed. Clint took a bite, hating that he had to make another big decision without Natasha to guide him. If Stark was right, she was killing angry. The only reason she hadn’t showed up before now was the fact they were on an aircraft carrier. He was certain she was putting plans in place to extract him. He took another bite and washed it down with coffee. The food was good here. Coulson hadn’t mistreated him.

With a small shiver, Clint remembered teeth on his ear. He knew, absolutely knew, that Coulson hadn’t wanted to remove that collar. Jesus, Captain America’s collar! And Clint had made fun of it! Subs would’ve killed for that collar, and he’d been sure it was an insult. He believed Coulson, when he said he hadn’t known.

If Stark was right. Stark was a genius. He was always right.

Sighing, Clint ate some more pie, feeling the lack of the collar. It’d been heavy. He wondered if Coulson was fuming right now, planning to put a tire around Clint’s neck. The thought made Clint smile.

“Hey, Clint, where’s your collar?” It was one of the Doms from Clint’s class.

“Fury said I’m a free submissive,” Clint said, refusing to tell the other part of the story. “Not sure what that means, so I came to get pie.”

The Dom sat down across from him, jaw hanging slightly open. “Fury took Coulson’s collar off you? Oh. My. God.”

“I guess. Yeah.” Clint would’ve never taken that collar of his own free will. He’d been caught, nothing more. He stabbed at the pie, not caring that his table was filling up with Doms, some jostling for seats. “How much do you guys even get paid?”

Glances went around the table. “Starting salary varies, depending on the skill set you bring to the table.” Everyone nodded. “Most of us reject the first offer and negotiate for more.” Again, most of the Doms nodded. “If Shield wants someone, they usually pay top dollar.”

“I like money.” Clint did. It paid for things like nice boots, arrows, and food. Natasha never worked on any job that paid lower than a million, but then, she was the best. Clint had taken whatever he could find, until he’d met her. “I just want to go home.”

Now they all made groaning noises and started talking over each other, trying to convince him how great Shield was, and that he’d love it here, and he decided his stomach hurt so he pushed the pie away. Home was where Natasha was, but movement at the door caught his eye, and he locked gazes with Coulson, who for one instant looked completely furious. It washed away, and Coulson was gone. Clint sighed and rubbed his neck. He sorta hated his life.

Getting to his feet, he slapped a hand away from his ass, dropped his hand to his gun, and started after Coulson. No one got in his way. When the hallway turned long, Clint could see him.

“Hey!”

Coulson turned on his heel, no expression at all but somehow looking angry. “Some respect, please. I outrank you!”

“No, you don’t, because I haven’t joined Shield!” Clint wasn’t even sure what he was yelling about, but he’d think of something. “Not willingly!” He didn’t stop striding until he was right in Coulson’s face. “You just assume the life I left was shit!”

Dominance oozed from Coulson as he leaned even closer. “You’d be dead if I hadn’t found you cowering under a cot.”

“I was asleep!” Clint roared back at him, not giving in to the tiny quiver of submission in his guts. “You were gonna sell me!”

“And you were going to run off the instant I did!” Coulson had his hands on his hips now. “I want you. You know that!”

Clint took a gulping breath. He did know that. “You gave me what you thought was a piece of shit collar because you think I’m a piece of shit, fuckable shit, but shit.”

Coulson narrowed his eyes but showed no emotion. “It turned out the collar represented exactly what I think of you.” And he turned, walking away with a strut that left Clint speechless.

Grabbing hold of his head, he pulled at his short hair. Would it have killed Natasha to get here before Stark?

********

Coulson was careful not to slam his office door because he had a reputation as being unflappable, and while Clint had destroyed most of it, the tiny shard that was left, he was keeping.

“Damn it,” he muttered, collapsing into his chair with a total lack of dignity. He dug out the collar and stared at it, unable to believe the turn of events. Damn Stark. First, he’d made the mistake of hiring a submissive, not that they weren’t capable, but submissives had no business being assassins. Of course, his Clint broke all the rules.

Then Stark showed up, claiming Clint for his submissive. What a bunch of bullshit. Stark couldn’t handle Clint on his best day. Stark hated Shield, and he’d gone out of his way to ruin missions more than once. Fury was tight-lipped about why exactly, so that meant it was daddy issues, and Coulson honestly wasn’t sure he wanted to know why.

Dropping the collar – it was indestructible – on his desk, Coulson rubbed his face and took a deep breath. He’d been so close to showing Clint how good they could be, and Stark had blown it up, just like he had those quinjets.

The collar winked at him under the lights, and Coulson decided to solve that mystery before dealing with Clint again. It was possible it was a commercial knockoff. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sliding through his memories until he found the one. His aunt had given it to him, no fanfare, just pushing it into his hand and telling him to find a good one. He’d almost given it back to her because the collar was far too simple for submissives today. They wanted jewels and gold, not copper and a looped cord.

In the end, he hadn’t argued about it because he knew he’d never find ‘a good one.’ He’d given it out more than a half-dozen times. Only when it had rested against Clint’s collarbones had Coulson considered investing in something more expensive.

Google was happy to provide him with pictures of Captain America’s collar, and Coulson furrowed his brow. There were about ten of them, and not a one of them was anything like the one sitting on his desk. At least one of the collars was in the Smithsonian exhibit, which meant some level of documentation. This was going to take some digging. Stark knew something no one else did, and since Coulson considered himself an expert on everything Captain America, it was galling.

Grabbing the collar, he went to find Agent Hurley. He wasn’t expecting Clint to be slouched across the hallway, learning against the wall, foot up, looking like murder and sex. Coulson gave him a smoldering glance and strode past him.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

Coulson had no intention of answering.

****

Clint had it all mapped out. He was going to look tough and demand Coulson let him call Natasha on their drop number. Coulson giving him nothing but attitude and striding away hadn’t been part of the plan.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Clint really hoped Coulson wasn’t going to Fury’s office. They needed to argue some more, and Clint couldn’t do that there. “Coulson!”

Coulson didn’t even slow his step, and Clint jogged to catch up and then fell into step at Coulson’s shoulder. Okay, maybe a half-step back, but close. “Where are you going?”

Coulson didn’t look at him. “My aunt, not Peggy Carter, gave me this collar. She never mentioned it was Captain America’s.”

“Why would Stark lie about something ridiculous? He was really pissed.” Clint believed Stark. “And Aunt Peggy? Peggy Carter was Stark’s aunt?”

“He grew up knowing her. She and Howard Stark were close.” Coulson hadn’t slowed down. “I’m very sure my aunt didn’t know either of them.”

Clint stayed close to Coulson’s shoulder, hating that some tiny part of him felt like he’d found his place in the world. He stomped on it viciously. At least he wasn’t in front with a hand on his shoulder. That made him nervous. Coulson stopped, Clint almost crashed into him, pulling back at the last possible second, and knocked on an office door.

A voice told them to come in, and Clint made sure to get in right behind Coulson so the door didn’t hit him in the face. Sure, he hadn’t known about Captain America until recently, but he was a fan, and he wanted to know about the stupid collar.

“Agent Hurley, we have a mystery to solve,” Coulson said, and there was a tiny smile lurking on his lips. Clint checked twice to be sure, a little shocked.

“Hello, Agent Coulson. Hi, Clint,” Hurley said. “How are the lessons going? Did you get help using my website?”

Coulson turned and speared Clint with a look. “I’m curious, as well.”

“Ignore me. We’re here for him.” Clint pointed at Coulson, knowing he was in trouble, if he stayed at Shield. “My collar? Was Captain America’s!” He might’ve rushed out the enthusiasm, and he saw Coulson wasn’t fooled.

Hurley’s eyes blew wide. “What? Agent Coulson?” He was half out of his chair. “What?”

“Sit. I’ll tell the story.” Coulson claimed the other chair and gave a pointed look at the floor that Clint completely ignored. He stood behind him, arms crossed, listening to them talk increasingly fast, using short hand, computers drawn in to help and finally using a laptop to Facetime an expert at the Smithsonian. The collar was passed back and forth. They took pictures of it, emailed it all around the world, and at one point, Pepper Potts weighed in, claiming to have proof. She grumbled about going down to the archives and left the chat window.

At that point, Clint had to ask a question. “Won’t Stark come back and blow up more shit if he finds out about this?”

Hurley looked shocked, and Coulson turned, seeming almost surprised to see Clint there. “Miss Potts is both competent and strong-willed. She can handle him.”

“If you say so.” Clint wasn’t as sure, but he shrugged. “You could look at the history of collars made like that in Brooklyn. Rogers was poor. If he got it from his father or mother, it would’ve been common.”

They stared at him for a second or two. Hurley snapped his fingers, and Coulson smiled – a real smile, with teeth and crinkly eyes, – right at Clint. “Good idea.”

Clint felt like he’d been struck in the head. How was he going to yell at him, after seeing that? He bumbled his way out of the office, claiming a need for a break, and went to find a restroom. After taking care of business and washing up, he leaned against the sink and stared at the crazy man in the mirror.

“I am so screwed.”

****

"You could... put the collar back on him, now," Hurley said, voice tentative.

“Director Fury freed him. He’ll be offered a contract here at Shield.” Coulson kept his tone level, not revealing how angry he was. Fury had no right, except that he did, and Coulson had no legal ground to challenge it.

“Oh.” Hurley had the grace to look down and away.

One little word that Coulson thought summed up the situation very well. Clint had barred his back, asking to be claimed, and Coulson had taken him. Realizing that he was growling, Coulson got up to pace back and forth. Hurley was smartly engrossed in another Internet search.

His eyes were drawn to the collar, and he picked it up, staring down at it. If Clint stayed with Shield, he’d find a Dom easily enough, as evidenced by the scene in the cafeteria. Coulson had work to do, and he couldn’t spend his day chasing after something Stark had said, or a submissive – Clint – he liked to be called Clint. Furious with himself, Coulson shoved the collar in his pocket and left Hurley to his wild goose chase.

Yanking open the door, he took one step and slammed into Clint, who promptly fell on his ass in the hallway. Coulson shut the door behind him and straightened his tie. Words stuck in his throat, but his cock knew exactly what he was thinking.

Clint seemed a little stunned. He just stared up at him for much too long. “Wow. The fortune teller told me a handsome Dom would knock me down some day, but I thought she meant the other fifteen times I was punched.”  
Ducking his head, Coulson’s anger drained away. “My apologies.” He wanted to put out his hand, help him up, but Clint wasn’t Coulson’s submissive any longer. It wouldn’t be right to touch him.

“Not like you meant to do it.” Clint scrambled as far as his knees, and Coulson lost his damn mind. He stepped, licked his lower lip, and palmed his cock through his trousers. Clint’s eyes widened and he made a low sound that punched all the air out of Coulson. Taking a breath wasn’t possible. Clint sat back on his heels. “Still not yours.”

*****


End file.
